


Dumb Tangled AU

by Kamaevis (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Disney's Tangled, M/M, it's stupid, no seriously what even is this, stupid, that's what it is, what is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kamaevis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's lived his entire life in the tower, his only company a mother who is both overbearing and cold and a little dog-fairy by the name of Jade. He hopes to someday escape the tower and observe the shower of lights on his birthday in person, but an argument with mother all but snuffs out that idea.</p><p>That is until a strange man crawls in his window with a strange satchel, a pair of shades, a stupidly handsome face, and enough charm to talk a king out of his crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dumb Tangled AU

**Author's Note:**

> good god what even is this why did i write this oh my god

Life is rather boring.  
  
You like to imagine that perhaps outside the walls of your tower, life is full of excitement and wonder. Of daring adventures and steamy romance. You sometimes spend days just laying in bed imagining how wonderful it must be out there—how magical.  
  
But your mother assures you otherwise.  
  
Whenever you ask she clucks her tongue and flaps her hand, telling you that the outside world is dreadfully boring. She tells you that the dangers aren't as romantic as you make them out to be, that they're terrifying and deadly, and that the romance is bitter and harsh and nothing like the love stories in which you immerse yourself. It's better, she says, if you stay inside with your pretty ideals.  
  
You don't want to, though! You want to leave, to escape, to be free. You stand in the window with your toes curled over the lip of the sill and you insist that this time, this time you'll do it. You'll loop your hair through the hook and you'll jump like mother does, you'll slide to the ground and feel the grass on the soles of your feet, feel the dirt pressed in the gaps between your toes, feel the wind whip around you and lead you to far off places.  
  
You never do, of course. You always chicken out at the last minute, tugging your hair from the metal hook and retreating back into the familiar safety of your tower. Someday, you tell yourself, someday.  
  
And today, you think, will definitely be that day.  
  
Because it's almost your eighteenth birthday!  
  
You're not quite certain, but from what you've read, eighteen seems to be the day when all your favorite characters' adventures begin. So you're sure that it must mean something. And mother is always far more lenient around your birthday, making it far easier to ask for things. Things like being taken to see the light festival—at least that's what you think it is, you've never been sure—that always occurs on your birthday.  
  
Every year, without fail, you'll wander down to your window long after mother has gone to bed and watch the dazzling lights explode in the sky and rain colorful shimmers upon the kingdom. It's beautiful, and you look forward to it more than you do getting presents. But this year, you're eighteen. And you've wanted to see the lights up close since you were a child, and you were finally going to ask for it!  
  
If you could work up the courage, that is.  
  
As much as you love your mother, she's rather intimidating. Even her nicest smiles remind you more of sharks than anything else and when she cards her fingers through your hair in a manner that's meant to be soothing—you think—you can feel her nails rake across your scalp as though she were trying to tear it off. You keep these thoughts to yourself, though. Like you said, she's scary.  
  
You spend the morning cleaning up and convincing yourself that you can definitely do it. Jade, the cute little fairy with dog ears who'd flown into your window when you were a child and kept you company ever since, sat perched on your shoulder, chattering in her cute, bell-like little language to keep you calm. She knows you better than you know yourself, and you know that she's reminding you not to chicken out, even if you really, really want to.  
  
She wants to leave as badly as you do.  
  
You tell her that she could just go, nothing's keeping her here, but she rolls her eyes and flicks you on the tip of your nose, reminding you that, oh yeah, you're the reason she stays. That makes you feel a little guilty, but you enjoy her company too much to dwell on it.  
  
When the floors have been swept three times and the dishes have been scrubbed until they're practically mirrors, you sink down onto the couch and jostle your shoulder a bit to get Jade's attention. She takes the hint and flits down to your knee.  
  
You stare at her for a moment before your gaze drops to your lap.  
  
“I don't know if I can do it,” You admit.  
  
She huffs, wings fluttering.  
  
“I know, I know. I want to leave, too!” You slouch farther into the couch, “But mother's scary, Jade! Have you seen her?”  
  
She rolls her eyes.  
  
“Yes, of course you have. But you don't have to deal with her all the time.”  
  
She puts her hands on her hips and stomps her left foot twice. Her wings are still fluttering and her ears are standing on end and you know she's upset. You had promised her, after all.  
  
“What if she gets mad again?”  
  
Your shoulders hunch a little at the memory. Mother's nice most of the time, and she dotes on you and assures you that she treats you better than most mothers. But there was a time when you were younger—a lot younger—when you'd tried to leave the tower. You were just curious, and you hadn't actually wanted to leave. You'd just been sitting on the window sill wondering how you would go about leaving if you really wanted to try.  
  
But she'd found you and she'd been so furious.  
  
Your cheek had been bruised for a week after that and it was two weeks before she would so much as look at you. You didn't want that to happen again.  
  
You didn't realize you were shaking until there was a warm palm on the tip of your nose. You opened your eyes—when had you closed them?—and found Jade smiling sadly at you. She patted your nose comfortingly and said something that you figured was something along the lines of, _it's okay you don't have to._  
  
You took a deep breath and steeled your nerves, willing your hands to stop shaking.  
  
“No,” You say, “I'm going to do it. I have to. No more putting it off!”  
  
Jade grins and nods, pumping a fist into the air with a jingle. You smile back and you're about to say something else when you hear mother's voice wafting through the window. You jump a little and wave Jade toward the curtains to hide before mother sees her. She vanishes amidst the pink fabric and you hurry over to the window, hiking up your hair as you go. She's standing at the ground, lips pulled into a wide, toothy grin that makes your stomach churn just a little.  
  
You loop your hair around the hook and drop it down to her. She grabs on and flashes you another grin to give you the go ahead, so you grip the hair on your side, brace your feet, and pull. She's heavier than she looks, though you'd never dare tell her so, and you're wheezing by the time she finally steps onto the sill. She doesn't even seem to notice, breezing in with a, “Hey, sweetie,” and a pat on your head as though you hadn't just heaved her up into the tower with your hair.  
  
“Hey, mom,” You say breathlessly, stooping over and gripping your knees as you try to regain the ability to breathe.  
  
She's dumped her basket on the couch and is standing in front of the mirror, prodding at her ridiculously large hair.  
  
You're not one to talk, of course, what with the seventy feet of yours that's draped around the room, but what hers lacks in length it makes up for in volume. You're pretty sure Jade would get lost in there if she was ever unlucky enough to get caught in its tangles.  
  
Mother turns around once she's done primping and smiles again.  
  
“John, baby,” She says, swooping forward and kissing the top of your head, “I missed you today.”  
  
“I missed you to, mom,” You say quietly, returning the smile. As frightening and self absorbed as she is, she's still your mother and you love her a great deal.  
  
Her grin fades a little and she taps at the underside chin, “You look like you're thinkin' about something. Wanna tell your mama about it?”  
  
“Yes, actually!” Your heart's practically beating in your throat, “My-my birthday!”  
  
She pauses, blinks, then turns around to face the mirror again, “Oh yeah. It's soon, isn't it?”  
  
You nod vigorously, “Two days!”  
  
“And you'll be what, twelve?”  
  
You catch her grin in the mirror and huff a little.  
  
“Eighteen, mom.”  
  
“Oh, yes, I've forgotten how much you've grown. But all this talk of age makes me feel even more tired than I was before. Will you sing for me, babe?”  
  
Of course.  
  
Your shoulders slump a little, but you hope that maybe singing will put her in a better mood so she'll be more likely to agree to your idea. So you drag your stool out as she collapses into her chair and sit it down a few feet from her. You offer her a lock of your hair and a hair brush and she takes them with a smile.  
  
The tune falls easily from your lips after years of singing it on a daily basis. Your hair warms and glows, humming along with the song and you can feel the magic thrumming through your body. Your bones are singing out along with you, though only you can hear them, and you watch as some of the tired lines vanish from mother's face and her eyes close blissfully.  
  
When you're done, she looks far more relaxed than she did when she returned home, so you take the brush from her hands and hope she's willing to listen.  
  
“So, mom, about my birthday...” She hums a little to acknowledge your words, “Uh, well, see, I've noticed that, y'know, on my birthday every year, there are these...lights! Big flashing lights in the sky kind of like...um...like it's raining colors! Or...or something. And I was wondering if maybe this year, because I'm eighteen, we might get to go...see them?”  
  
Her eyes are open now, and her muscles are coiled tight.  
  
Oh no.  
  
“You can obviously see them fine from here if you know about them so well,” She says cooly. She stands from the chair to tower over you, all hints of playfulness gone from her demeanor.  
  
“W-well, yes,” You stammer, “I just thought they might be, um, more-more vivid in person!”  
  
“John, do you really think that I spent my entire life protecting you just so you could put it to shame by going to see some lights?” Her tone is harsh and you flinch a little, “Do you think these lights are more important than the sacrifices I've made for you?”  
  
Your eyes drop to the ground, “N-”  
  
 _“Look at me, John!”_  
  
You squeak, lifting your eyes again, “N-no, mom! I don't!”  
  
“We live in this tower to protect you, John,” She snaps, “Don't you think I'd rather live in the kingdom? Don't you think I'd love to be able to go to whatever party or festival I wanted? Of course I would, but I don't because your life is more important to me than having fun.”  
  
You nod, eyes never straying from her face.  
  
“Never ask me about this again,” She says, “You are not strong enough to face the outside world and you will not be any time soon. Now. I've more errands to run. Come on.”  
  
She scoops her basket back up and marches toward the door, waiting for you to hand her your hair so you can lower her to the ground. She doesn't wave as she walks away, her cloak dark against the vibrant green grass.  
  
Once she's out of sight, you spin around and storm over to the stool, kicking it hard and sending it crashing into the wall.  
  
“It's not fair,” you shout. Tears burn in your eyes and blur your vision. “It's not _fair!”_  
  
You feel a weight on your shoulder and fingers carding through your hair. Jade whispers words you don't understand into your ear, but her warm presence breaks you. Your knees give out and you crumple to the floor, tears flooding your eyes.  
  
You'll never get out of here.  
  
You were stupid to even try.

**Author's Note:**

> this probably won't be continued because it is stupid


End file.
